Mrs. Mac-Candlish’s natural sagacity and acquired suspicion being inflexible, Glossin sent for Deacon Bearcliff, to speak ‘anent the villain that had shot Mr. Charles Hazlewood.’ The Deacon accordingly made his appearance with his wig awry, owing to the hurry with which, at this summons of the Justice, he had exchanged it for the Kilmarnock cap in which he usually attended his customers. Mrs. Mac-Candlish then produced the parcel deposited with her by Brown, in which was found the gipsy’s purse. On perceiving the value of the miscellaneous contents, Mrs. Mac-Candlish internally congratulated herself upon the precautions she had taken before delivering them up to Glossin, while he, with an appearance of disinterested candour, was the first to propose they should be properly inventoried, and deposited with Deacon Bearcliff, until they should be sent to the Crown-office. ‘He did not,’ he observed, ‘like to be personally responsible for articles which seemed of considerable value, and had doubtless been acquired by the most nefarious practices.’ He then examined the paper in which the purse had been wrapt up. It was the back of a letter addressed to V. Brown, Esquire, but the rest of the address was torn away. The landlady, now as eager to throw light upon the criminal’s escape as she had formerly been desirous of withholding it, for the miscellaneous contents of the purse argued strongly to her mind that all was not right,--Mrs. Mac-Candlish, I say, now gave Glossin to understand that her position and hostler had both seen the stranger upon the ice that day when young Hazlewood was wounded. Our readers’ old acquaintance Jock Jabos was first summoned, and admitted frankly that he had seen and conversed upon the ice that morning with a stranger, who, he understood, had lodged at the Gordon Arms the night before. ‘What turn did your conversation take?’ said Glossin. ‘Turn? ou, we turned nae gate at a’, but just keep it straight forward upon the ice like.’ ‘Well, but what did ye speak about?’ ‘Ou, he just asked questions like ony ither stranger,’ answered the postilion, possessed, as it seemed, with the refractory and uncommunicative spirit which had left his mistress. ‘But about what?’ said Glossin. ‘Ou, just about the folk that was playing at the curling, and about auld Jock Stevenson that was at the cock, and about the leddies, and sic like.’ ‘What ladies? and what did he ask about them, Jock?’ said the interrogator. ‘What leddies? Ou, it was Miss Jowlia Mannering and Miss Lucy Bertram, that ye ken fu’ weel yoursell, Mr. Glossin; they were walking wi’ the young Laird of Hazlewood upon the ice.’ ‘And what did you tell him about them?’ demanded Glossin.